The Great Wave

I am

I am what I am because
I wrote to you
                   
Because you are
who you are when you write

Because of this
I wrote with all of me
                   
I am because I wrote who
I am and now

I am.

The Dust Bath

Dark, stout, and beady eyed
a spirited chickadee wriggles in the dust
fluffing and fanning her wings impatiently
struggling to clean herself of wanderlust.

Itching still with impetus, she perches
mimicking an expectant leaf
praying for rolling grey skies to drown this
vagabondism, up and up she tips her beak.

Though clouds threaten not a drop falls
so hopping through spotted grass patches
she searches for a region of golden blades
maybe this dream will be one she catches.

This chickadee, though precocious and fat
is anxious in her non-migratory family
she needs to move, stumble and learn
before she lets herself soar happily.

Haiku II

The rain was pretty

but only because I knew

you had watched it fall.

La lluvia era bonita

pero porque yo sabìa 

habías visto caer.

La pluie était belle

juste parce-que je savais

t'il regardais tombé.

La pioggia era bella

solo perché io sapevo

tu l'avevi guardato cascare.

Wherever I May Find Her

   Gravity; dripping, prune-like finger tips
hugging rough and speckled stone.
                 
   Burning; glowing in the singular flame
contained with a tried glass dome.
 
   Clarity; rippling stark reflections
lingering, as the breeze drifts past.
     
   Finally; bobbing beneath quieting trees
reveling softly, to be at last.
                   

Maps

breathing through the nose
mouth feeling dry
        exhales evident in such spaces

lips otherwise occupied

steeping smoothly in this face
precisely the way light can dance
        dark and naked hair; tangled messes

hands moving in a trance.

blinding, yet eyes are unclouded
minds ruminating, defying schisms
        dimpled bodies grazing

stealing kisses, catching rhythms

loving to wander here, casually
and explore now with flashing eyes
        memorizing topography

cherishing these desires.

The Touch of Spirit on the Body

Inspired by Rumi.

There was one kiss I wanted my whole life
the feel of a spirit touching on mine
I waited, I loved, and stared up at the light
of a moon that couldn’t help but shine.

Spirits come and go as people do
and I have known many very near
they never came as close as you
a belief I’ve always feared.

But looking at the moon tonight
I won’t be living for one thought
and maybe it’ll always be as bright
whether you’re looking at it or not.

My spirit trembled as it felt your touch
It’s not something I want badly anymore
and I don’t believe you need as much
but I dreamt moonlight opened up a door.

I think of you in such a sweet and tender way
that I’m glad I’ll never get the chance to say.

From the Breakfast Nook

A heat stained surface top
      still warm from years of pots--
without the forethought of trivets
and hands racing across
     scribbling words and clear instructions
pencil point touching finish beneath.

A palm pressing gently
       mistakes, separations--
rising to meet their reflection
in lines, prints of a hand
        searching for a good history
that might talk of the fading woodgrain.

Setting clean syrup jars
       bundles of herbs, berries--
gracing an unwilling table
neither stately nor poor
        holding steady with memories
mismatched, overlapped, and warmly worn.

Whole

Packed into a prism

boxes and bits of something 

now broken.

        

Unrecognizable as a whole

these remnants don't fit

useless now, these lifeless tokens.

            

It's impossible to remember

what kind of life was built with

memories from yesterday.

            

Brushing aside sentiments

only needs be addressed, so quit

overturning every stone we ever laid.

It doesn't matter what we had before

what you've given us

I could never ask for more.

Halved Moon

I want to be held
             in a moment all our own

feel the echoing 

             vibrations 

promise I'm not alone.

I will be reckless 

             as cloud-scaping moonbeams

dancing across the floor

             daring to glow

push through the trees.

In vino veritas

“I like on the table,
when we’re speaking,
the light of a bottle 
of intelligent wine.”
--Pablo Neruda

I like the laughter dipping
from one glass to another
hands curled round.

I like the glow in subtlety
where we're joining 
in feeling bright.

I like the voices flowing
over one another
and sipping contently.

I like the way we breathe
revolving with a bottle
set at the center.

Haiku I

Freckles and moles are

mingling insistently. And

the moon lights darkness.